


Heat

by omgbubblesomg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A lot of blushing dean, Blow Jobs, Blushing, Blushing Dean, Bossy Sam, Bottom Dean, Burns, Dean in a Suit, Dubious consent hand job, Firefighter Dean, Firefighters, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frat Boy Sam, Gabriel in an ugly suit, Hand Jobs, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Licking, M/M, Nipple Play, Orgasm Denial, Phone Sex, Rimming, Sam in a Suit, Top Sam, Virgin Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 21:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7071562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fireman!Dean au in which Sam accidentally sets his house on fire and Dean’s the one that saves him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kindling

It’s dumb, but for some reason everyone (literally everyone) is surprised by how freaking hot fire is. _Yes_ , Dean wants to tell them. _Yes, the rumours are true. Fire is hot._

When he’s in gear, it’s sometimes easy to forget that the heat of a fire can feel like it’s boiling the blood in your veins. Your eyes get so dry that they simultaneously feel as though they are leaking down your face and shrivelling in their sockets. If you’re not wearing the thick flame retardant clothes of the fire service, then chances are the flames probable _are_ burning away all the moisture in your body.

Lucky he’s got the gear then. Dean happens to like his eyes. And his blood. And his skin. And pretty much everything else that keeps him walking and talking.

Once, when he was still a fresh recruit, he forgot to put the beanie on beneath his helmet, and when the team finished the job and he got undressed he was shocked to discover that the hair on his nape had been singed off. He hadn’t even noticed.

So, yes. Fire was hot. It’s been years since Dean was the fresh recruit, and he thinks he’s got enough experience to say that fire is obliteratingly, scorchingly hot. In fact, as a firefighter, he didn’t think he would ever come across anything hotter.

But then he burst into a frat house dorm that was in the middle of burning itself down, and literally tripped over the semi-naked form of one of the occupants. When he rolled the guy over he realised that there were different kinds of heat, and the feeling that washed over him was way way hotter than fire had ever been.

The guy was lying on his back, and his clothes were mostly gone. _Not good_ , Dean thought, at the same time as a part of his brain whispered _so good_. The guy had probably passed out from the lack of oxygen and his clothes might have been burnt off. Hard to tell with all the smoke rolling around, but if that was the case then his skin would probably be burnt as well. 

He knew the rest of his team would be checking out the frat house, so he allowed himself a routine check. A _routine_ check, he reminded himself. _Totally neutral and completely medical_. He put a hand on the expanse of solid muscle that apparently substituted for a chest, and was relieved to feel the rise and fall that indicated his (incredibly attractive) ward was still alive. Time to get him out of there. A burning house was no place to check for burns, and he’d have a better chance of survival in the open.

Dean pulled the guy into a position that would let him lift him up, but then the supposedly unconscious victim became suddenly alive. Dean was innocently grappling him into position when suddenly he _started grappling back_. Instead of easily carrying the frat guy out of the place, he was now being attacked by an almost naked, incredibly attractive hulk of a human.

Ok, well, not attacked, exactly. Hugged? Strangled? The attractive naked guy had wrapped himself around Dean’s neck and was panting into his ear. Was this shock? Dean had seen burns victims go literally crazy with shock, but this was a whole new level of ridiculous.

“Sir, I’m a fireman, I’m here to help,” Dean yelled at the naked guy. Well, he tried to yell, but the guy had suddenly hauled himself into Dean’s lap and all that came out of Dean’s mouth was a grunt.

Now that he had a literal lapful of the guy, Dean could see that his skin was unblemished and his boxers were unburnt. Why had he been lying on the floor then?

“Are you my candygram?” purred the guy, directly into Dean’s ear. A wash of alcoholic breath accompanied his words, and Dean finally figured it out. He was in a frat house, duh. The guy hadn’t been knocked out by smoke inhalation, he’d been knocked out by alcohol. Jesus.

There was a bang from the next room, and the sergeant burst in. “You all right Winchester?” He barked.

“Yessir!” Dean responded, “just about to take this kid outside.”

“The fire started in the kitchen, but we’ve basically saved the back half. Take him out through that door.” And the sergeant pointed at the door he’d just burst through.

“Yessir!”

“And Winchester...” The sergeant looked amused, “make sure you get a blanket for your friend there.”

As his sergeant left, Dean blushed furiously. The naked guy was rubbing himself against Dean, and wriggling in his lap, and Dean was sure it had looked anything but innocent.

“If you’re my candygram,” purred the guy again, “then aren’t you supposed to be taking your clothes off?” And then he followed these words up with a sloppy, beer-tasting kiss, and when Dean jerked back he began fumbling at the buttons on his jacket.

“Knock it off,” Dean muttered, and without waiting for the next onlooker to crash into the room, he hoisted the guy up and made for the exit. The guy completely ignored his change in altitude in favour of undoing more buttons. 

Outside, Dean went straight for the ambulance that had pulled up, and bundled his pile of naked squirming flesh towards the familiar face of Gabriel.

“Hey, Gabe,” he panted. “Got a drunk naked frat boy for you.”

“My favourite,” Gabriel waggled his eyebrows at Dean. “Drunk, naked, _handsy_ frat boy.”

Dean looked down at himself. Sure enough, his overshirt had been opened completely and the guy had somehow managed to pull out his grimy undershirt from where he’d tucked it into his pants. Dean was blushing again. He tried to stutter an explanation but Gabriel was already peering at the handsy frat boy in question.

"Hello, my name is Gabe and I’m here to help. Can you tell me your name?”

The guy was blinking owlishly up at him, and a smear of a smile was spreading across his face.

“'s my birthday,” he slurred. “’m allowed to get handsy on m’birthday.”

“Happy birthday!” Gabe winked at him. “What’s your name birthday boy?”

“Whatever you want it to be,” came the drunk reply.

“Winchester!” Dean spun around, and realised he was staring at a naked guy in an ambulance instead of doing his job. Oops.

He raced back towards his crew, and forgot about the guy for a few hours as they struggled to contain the blaze. Well, he almost forgot the guy. But the heat of the flames felt almost cool in comparison to the feeling that had lodged itself in his stomach.

One handsy semi-naked frat boy and all of a sudden Dean was a pretzel of emotions. God dammit.

Hours later, as the crew wearily handed over to the morning team, Dean pulled his phone from his locker and found two new messages, both from Gabe.

“Your handsy friend is at St. Mark’s. He’s been asking for his candygram ;)” read the first

Well, one short stopover at the hospital on the way home... just to check on the poor guy... that surely couldn’t hurt, right?

“His name is Sam” read the second.


	2. Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean goes to the hospital for a very quick, totally nonchalant visit that any concerned member of the fire service would do in his place. It's completely normal.

Dean worked the night shift, which meant he usually dealt with accidental fires caused by ovens being left on. It also meant that he drove in the opposite direction to traffic jams. When other people went to work, he was heading home, and when they headed for their own homes, Dean was usually just waking up.

One of the benefits of this arrangement was that he could make short side trips whenever he damn well pleased, without the time consuming side effect of peak hour traffic. At least, this was the excuse he was using as he pointed his car toward St. Marks. _It’ll be a five minute stopover_ , He told himself. _Easy_.

He found a park close to the hospital entrance, and with growing apprehension made his way up the expansive steps towards the doorway. Hospitals always made him feel dirty. It was the blue walls and white uniforms and the formaldehyde smell in the corridors. The way the staff eyed him sideways. At least he had changed his shirt into a cleaner flannel, but his jeans were old and ragged. As he made his way to the reception desk he belatedly tried to rub his blackened hands on the inside of his pockets, painfully aware of the dirt beneath his nails and the grime probably still smeared across his face.

He attempted a smile at the nurse behind the desk. “Um,” he began intelligently. “I’m, ah, here to see a, um... well, a friend, I guess.”

She sniffed, as though she didn’t think that _visiting friends_ was an event he should be bothering with.

“Name?” She asked imperiously.

“Oh, uh, Dean.” He offered his hand to shake. “Dean Winchester.”

“Not _your_ name!” She snarled.

“Oh, it’s uh, Sam.”

“Last name?”

“Um...”

“I can’t tell you his room if you don’t tell me his name.”

“He was admitted a few hours ago, came from a burning house on Cleveland. If you check the recent intakes...” She glared at him. “I was one of the firefighters on the scene,” he added lamely, thinking that his occupation might sway her onto his side. It didn’t.

“Sorry, I need a full name. Please move along.”

Dean began to back off, sensing that he’d lost, when an idea came to him.

“It’s Smith! Sam Smith!” The receptionist eyeballed him with mistrust, but dutifully turned to her computer to check for Sam Smith. Dean got on his toes and leaned as far over the counter as he could, looking over her shoulder at the list of names on the screen. _Jeez_ , there were a lot of Sams here. He tried to memorise as many room numbers as he could, and pulled himself back upright just as the receptionist turned back around.

“There’s no Sam Smith,” she said, coldly.

“Oh, uh... My mistake! He must be at St. Andrew’s! Thanks for the help!”

And then he turned on his heel and quickstepped away, her eyes boring into his back. The lifts were at the other end of the foyer, and arranged around them were a selection of carts selling coffee and gifts. Dean looked about himself as he tried to clean his fingernails, waiting for a free lift. A cheerful but depressing sign nearby offered two get-well cards for the price of one. Behind the cards were a selection of plush little bears holding flowers. Next to them were an array of novelty chocolates.

Did people usually bring gifts to a hospital? Was that a thing? He didn’t know.

The light for the lift pinged, but when the doors slid open a frail looking older man and a woman in a wheelchair squeezed themselves in, so Dean decided to wait for the next lift. He idly picked up a bear and squeezed it. Would it be weird to turn up with empty hands?

When Dean got into an empty lift five minutes later, he had two tiny chocolates and a little bear holding a flower. The chocolates said “get well soon” in friendly letters on the back.

He checked, in order, rooms 407, 523 and 701, softly calling “Sam,” into each room to see who looked up. In the first room, a red headed girl replied “yes?” and he quickly walked away. In the second, an elderly gentleman put his book down and invited Dean in for a cup of tea. In the third room, an impish brunette boy replied to Dean’s call by leaping out of his bed and hurrying towards Dean, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the room.

“A visitor!” He crowed.

 _Uh oh_. Dean thought.

“Um, hi!” He said brightly. “I’m Dean.”

“I’m Samandriel! But everyone just calls me Sam for short!”

The boy yanked Dean towards an empty chair. “Come talk with me! It’s so boring in here... and there’s nothing good on TV. I’ve been waiting and waiting for someone to come visit me! How did you find me? Will you stay for long? Are those chocolates?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean glanced at the gift chocolates, and realised how weird it would have been if he had tried to give them to a random guy he had met that morning. He gave them to Samandriel instead. The kid took them and grinned over Dean’s shoulder at someone.

“Hey, Sam Two! Want a chocolate?”

“You know I do Sam One. Who’s your visitor?” A door closed shut behind Dean and when he turned around he saw handsy frat-boy Sam standing there in a thin white hospital gown, grinning widely down at Samandriel and Dean. Dean realised that Sam must have been in the bathroom when he entered, and that Samandriel was sharing a room with him. 

“Two Sam’s in one place? Huh,” Dean said. He probably could have come up with something a bit more original, but Sam Two chose that moment to turn around and clamber into his bed, revealing a long strip of skin at the seam of the hospital gown, running from the nape of Sam’s neck down to the back of his knees. Somehow this was even more revealing than when he had been mostly naked the night before.

 _Do people actually go around naked in those gowns_? Dean wondered dazedly.

"Yeah Sam Two joined me last night and it’s been great we’re best friends even though he threw up three times and he wants to be a lawyer and he thinks Samurai Jack is better than Spiderman.”

Sam Two smiled wearily at Samandriel. “Did Spiderman ever master the ancient art of swordsmanship? Nope. That’s because he is a lesser being than Samurai Jack. Now quit yelling so I can get some sleep. Jesus.”

Dean cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Been better.” Sam replied. He cracked open an eye and squinted at Dean. “Hey... have we met before?”

“I was at your place last night...” Dean began. “You were pretty out of it though.”

Sam groaned. “Tell me about it. I’ve been on saline supplements all night because of dehydration. And look at this!” He held up his left arm, where Dean noticed a strip of white bandage covering the skin. “I got myself a second degree burn to go with my headache! Four inches long!”

_Four inches? Christ, how had he missed that?_

“You were lying in the house for a long time I guess.”

“Nope,” said Sam. “I got this _after_ the fire started. Apparently I ran _back_ into the house yelling something about a candygram. Unbelievable.”

“A candygram?” Dean asked hopefully.

Sam groaned. “A fucking candygram.”

Samandriel picked that moment to pipe in. “He wouldn’t stop talking about him,” he elaborated. “Last night it was all _candygram this_ and _candygram that_.” The kid leaned in closer conspiratorially. “Apparently the candygram kissed Sam Two. EW!”

“I did not!” Dean exclaimed, standing abruptly at the accusation.

“Didn’t what?” Asked handsy frat-boy Sam, looking up again at Dean’s outburst.

“I uh... didn’t think that candygrams kissed people...” Dean made up wildly.

Handsy frat-boy Sam peered up at him again, suspicion dawning on his face.

“Hang on,” he said, “are you sure we haven’t met?”

“Um...” Dean stalled. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be known as ‘handsy fireman guy’.

“Come here,” demanded Sam.

Dean reluctantly approached him, Samandriel watching with undisguised interest.

“Sam One.”

“Yes Sam Two?”

“Do you remember how we prove a theory?”

“We test it!”

“Damn straight.”

And then handsy frat-boy Sam reached his unburnt arm out, grabbed the collar of Dean’s flannel, and pulled him down towards his mouth. Dean started to voice a complaint but whatever he was going to say got smothered by Sam’s lips on his, and then again by Sam’s hand on the back of his head.

It took a moment to register _holy shit Sam is kissing me_ and then another moment to add _again_. And then a couple more moments to note that Sam had cleaned his teeth since last night’s boozy kiss. And then almost a whole minute to repeat the earlier realisation that _holy shit Sam is kissing me_.

All in all, it wasn’t one of Dean’s best performances. Every time he thought he had himself under control, Sam would slide his tongue over the roof of his mouth, or bite his bottom lip, or pull at the short strands of Dean’s hair, and Dean would lose all track of time again.

About five years later, Sam softened his hold on Dean’s neck. Dean realised he had been bending uncomfortably over a hospital bed, and his hands were stupidly planted on either side of Sam’s head. He blushed and tried to pull away, but Sam tightened his grip and kept Dean in his awkward position, happy to lie comfortably while holding Dean in place above him.Their lips were just barely touching, and they breathed the same air.

“I knew it was you,” Sam whispered.

Dean blushed again, but before he could answer something soft _whumped_ against the side of his head. Samandriel had thrown a pillow at him. Dean’s fuzzy brain tried to organise its thoughts. How come Samandriel looked the same age?

“EW! YOU GUYS WERE KISSING FOR LIKE A WHOLE MINUTE!”

Clearly one of them had their concept of time mixed up. Dean tried to straighten again but handsy frat-boy god-lips Sam was still holding his head, so he had to answer Samandriel while bent over, turning his face to the side.

“It’s uh... Not what it looks like.”

And then Sam licked the shell of his ear, humming deeply, and Dean’s overstrained knees buckled.

“EW!” Another pillow was launched at Dean’s face, and as he was now tangled around the hospital bed frame he had no hope of dodging it. 

This time, when Dean tried to straighten, Sam let go. They stared at each other, Dean blushing and Sam smirking.

“Is that for me?” Sam asked finally, pointing at the little bear holding a flower.

“Um... It is, actually.” Dean flinched, waiting for Sam to laugh, but handsy frat-boy god-lips just took it from him and held it on the palm of his hand, smiling slightly, before placing it carefully on his bedside.

“Thanks,” he said genuinely.

“Are you going to get married and leave forever?” Samandriel asked sadly.

“Sam One, I’m not leaving you alone until you can recite Aku’s evil plot to send Jack to the future.” Sam replied.

“Nuh uh, you have to learn the spiderman song and help me shoot webs at people!”

“Webs? Pfft! You have to learn to master the magical katana!”

Dean backed away awkwardly while they bickered, unsure of his place, and was almost at the door before Sam noticed his retreat.

“Hey!” He barked. “Get back here!”

Samandriel jumped out of bed again, grabbed Dean’s hand, and once again yanked him back into the room.

“I-I’ve gotta get home,” Dean stuttered.

“Well sorry to break it to you, but my day has been shitter than yours, and I’m officially extending my birthday an extra 24 hours. And you, Mr. Candygram, owe me a birthday dance.”

Dean’s eyes widened, but he couldn’t see any trace of a joke in Sam’s eyes. He gulped.


	3. Flames

“And then?” asked Gabriel.

“Then nothing!” Dean answered. “The nurse came in to check on both of them and I made a getaway. They didn’t even see me leave!”

“Well, shit.”

“I know.”

Gabriel and Dean were at a local café, and Dean was filling his friend in on the events of the previous morning. He was still fidgety. He couldn’t even taste his coffee. He kept getting flashbacks of Sam’s tongue in his mouth, and he thought his lips might still be numb. Some kind of post-event loss of feeling. Gabriel had been surprisingly quiet as Dean recounted the hospital trip, restraining himself to only a few eyebrow waggles and heartfelt sighs.

“Who knew? he said, sighing again. “Who knew that after all this time it was actually a naked frat boy that you were going to fall in love with?”

“Hey!” barked Dean. “We kissed _once_. Twice if you count the fire. We’re not in love!”

Gabriel waved a hand dismissively. “Your heart has been stolen in the night and the whole country is in mourning. The women are crying in the streets.” Gabriel paused. “The men, too.”

Dean ignored him. “I tried to go back that afternoon but both the Sams were gone, and the receptionist wouldn’t give me their addresses... And the frat house is closed because of the fire!” He stared glumly into his coffee. “I’ll never see him again.”

Gabriel put one hand on Dean’s shoulder, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of brightly coloured sweets. He offered one to Dean.

“Thanks,” Dean said, sniffing slightly. He took a caramel chocolate, but when he opened it the wrapping was empty. He stared silently at the fake chocolate and then looked back up at Gabriel, who grinned. Dean felt his anger rising, but then his friend’s smile became contagious and he ended up throwing the empty wrapper into Gabriel’s coffee, laughing with him. He couldn’t do anything about Sam or Sam’s whereabouts, so he resolved to put him out of his mind. He tried to ignore the tugging at the back of his skull that was attempting to draw him back into gloom.

His resolve lasted almost the whole week. Every time he put his uniform on he suppressed the feeling of Sam’s drunk fingers on his shirt, and when he carried Doreen’s cat down out of the tree (again) he fiercely ignored the memory of Sam’s weight in his arms.

But of course there was always the fire, and every time the heat of the flames washed over him, Dean's brain would supply him with another reminder. Brown eyes. Shaggy hair. A muscled chest. Fire-lit skin.

That was why he was more than a little annoyed when the team got a call 20 minutes before they were due to sign out. A house fire. God dammit. Just what he needed the night before his weekend. 

He dutifully piled into the truck and pulled the flash hood and helmet over his face, hoping the fire was small so he could be back home before sunrise. When they pulled up outside a little suburban house he had a wave of foreboding, but couldn’t place it. He hung back as the rest of the team jogged inside, trying to locate the source of his unease.

There was no smoke coming from any of the windows. What the hell?

He walked through the doorway in time to catch the end of his sergeant’s rant.

“...is a serious crime and is not tolerated by the fire department!”

Oh great. Dean had heard this speech before. He knew what came next.

“EMERGENCY SERVICES ARE NOT FOR YOUR AMUSEMENT” the sergeant yelled.

A prank call. Unbelievable.

Dean pulled his helmet off and had his flash hood half over his eyes when he felt someone slam into his chest. He stumbled back and hit a wall, trying to keep himself upright. His training was kicking in, and as a result his hands were simultaneously trying to protect himself from an unknown assailant while also supporting the person to stop them injuring themselves.

He spluttered as he pulled the hood over his head, and blinked up at a tall, brown eyed guy who was beaming down at him.

“I knew you’d come,” Sam spoke at him from across an ocean, his lips moving before the words reached Dean’s foggy brain.

“Wha-?”

Then, for the third time, Sam was closing the gap between their mouths, tilting his head and parting his lips. He had one strong arm on Dean’s shoulder, and the other was wrapping itself around his waist, crushing their hips together. Dean gaped up at the kid and his befuddled brain sent competing messages to various limbs, with the result that he just stood there without moving, in a kind of daze.

Just as their lips were about to touch, a door next to Dean slammed open, and he instinctively jumped backwards. Sam hadn’t let go of his waist so Dean stumbled and the back of his head hit the wall. A couple of stars burst into life and his eyes began to water.

“Winchester!”

“Yessir? Dean mumbled blearily.

“Prank call. I need you to take a report.” The sergeant paused, apparently just noticing Sam. “Everything alright here?”

“Oh yes thank you sir,” Sam said sweetly from Dean’s left. “This brave fireman just tripped and I was helping him up. I’ll give him a full report now. Thank you so much.” Dean felt himself getting pulled away from the sergeant. He tried to protest but a hand on his shoulder gave him a warning squeeze. “Won’t take a second. He’ll be right out in just a minute.” And then a door closed and when Dean looked around he found himself in an unlit bedroom, alone but for the outline of Sam. His brain short circuited when it realised it was alone in a room. With Sam. And a bed.

He coughed. “So, uh. You made a fake call to the fire department?”

Sam stepped closer. “I had to see you again. Why did you leave last week?”

Dean wriggled uncomfortably, unsure if he should be turning on a light or calling for one of the team or at least opening a door.

“Um... So I need to make a report about the call... Just a short statement will do.” He reached for the notebook in his back pocket, but Sam grabbed his hand and held it against his hip.

“A statement, huh?” Sam asked. Then he was crowding Dean backward against the door, and he was sliding one knee in between Dean’s legs. _Holy shit_ , Dean thought. A few neurons fried themselves in his brain. 

Some part of Dean’s poor, overworked mind was still focused on the report, and he again reached for the notebook in his pocket. This time, Sam grabbed both his hands and pulled them above his head, zippering his fingers into Dean’s and leaning heavily against him. A few more neurons fried out of sheer pleasure.

“I’ll give you a statement, _Winchester_.” Sam’s leg pressed harder and Dean went on to his toes, back scratching against the wall. “A week ago a sexy guy in a uniform makes out with me in a burning kitchen. Then he finds me in hospital the next day and tells my room-mate that his name is Dean, and when I show him a bit of skin he practically salivates, but instead of sticking around to ask me out do you know what the sexy fireman does?” Sam’s thigh was hitching insistently against Dean’s dick, and he was panting. “He bolts, and leaves me with nothing but the name _Dean_.”

“I -oh god- I’m s-sorry” Dean stuttered, hardening against Sam’s leg.

Sam leaned down to whisper evilly in his ear. “No you’re not. But you will be.”

Then he let go of Dean’s wrists, letting them fall onto his shoulders, and his hands were at the zip of Dean’s pants, deftly opening the fly and slipping a hand into Dean’s boxers to -

“Oh Jesus, God, fuck yes,” Dean swore, as Sam’s clever fingers slipped around his dick and squeezed.”

Sam chuckled in his ear. “I like it when you swear.” He bit at one sensitive lobe and tugged at it with his teeth, sending a spasm of pleasure through Dean. “Do it again.”

“Holy _fucking shit!_ ” Sam had just swiped his thumb over the head of Dean’s dick, and even though he knew the rest of his team were just one room away he couldn’t stop himself from cursing loudly. When Sam repeated the move and Dean’s mouth involuntarily opened to swear again, Sam’s other hand found it’s way to his face and instead of shouting loudly Dean instead found his tongue firmly held down by a long, slender finger that pressed against it, rubbing small circles as it did.

Dean groaned, and found himself trying to lick at the slender digit, but Sam continued to press down, holding his tongue in place. Sam’s other hand was working unceasingly on Dean’s erection, pulling and stroking and just generally sending him into fits of neuron-frying ecstasy. Small shivers were wracking over his skin. He sucked at Sam’s finger and felt the muscles in his legs tense. Sam’s deft hand was squeezing and stroking and it couldn’t have been a comfortable position for the tall brunette - it certainly wasn’t comfortable for Dean - but they were both being held in place by something more than just hands and legs. The heat was back, hotter than fire, and Dean garbled incomprehensibly under the finger on his tongue. Sam moaned directly into his ear, and somehow strung a sentence together.

“I hope I don’t have to prank the fire service again, _sir_. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

And then he slipped his hand out of Dean’s boxers and pulled his finger out of Dean’s mouth, quickly zipping Dean’s hard dick back into his pants. Then he pulled Dean away from the door, opened it, and shoved Dean out of the bedroom.

“Well I hope you got everything you want, sir. If you have any other questions I’ll be happy to help and you can call me any time. Once again I just wanted to say I’m so sorry for the mix-up.”

Dean, bewildered, blinked in the brightly lit hallway, then the sergeant was ushering him out the door and back to the truck, where the rest of the team was already waiting. Luckily his huge overshirt and the darkness outside hid the tenting of his still hard dick, and his team didn’t seem to notice that he was a little out of it.

“God damn kids,” one of them said. “They’ll be fined for this.”

“Did you get what you need, Winchester?” asked another.

“Uh." Dean looked down at the notebook in his hand, not even realising he had gotten it out. He opened it belatedly, and a little slip of paper fell out. It had a phone number and beside that an outline of a bear holding a flower.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah I think I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A flash hood sometimes gets called a beanie by people in the fire service. They're super uncomfortable and not at all attractive irl. But they're necessary for pretty much any fire to protect the neck and face: http://www.terapeak.com/worth/elite-issue-fire-resistant-flame-retardant-nomex-anti-flash-hood/191710703504/
> 
> Trigger Warning added for the no-consent handjob.


	4. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets the courage to call Sam (with some not-so-helpful assistance from Gabe)

Dean stared at his phone, willing his fingers to move. He dialled the number, then before he pressed call he went over what he was going to say again.

“Hello, Sam, this is Dean Winchester.”

No, wait, that was too formal.

“Heya, Sammy,”

Oh god, way too friendly. What if Sam hated being called Sammy?

“Hi, this is your local council representative just calling to wish you a happy holiday!”

Funny, but maybe not casual enough. Dean didn’t want to sound like he was trying too hard.

Gabriel put a steaming mug in front of him. “What are ya up to, champ?”

“Trying to call Sam,” Dean said miserably. He sipped at the coffee and grimaced. Gabe always put about ten sugars in.

“Poor you,” Gabriel said unsympathetically, “my fingers sometimes stop working when I try to use my phone, too. Here, let me help.” Then he was grabbing the phone out of Dean’s hands and pressing the call button.

Dean lunged across the table, narrowly avoiding the hot coffee. “Gabe, no!”

But it was too late.

“Hi, Sam!” Gabe said brightly at the phone. Dean moaned in horror. “This is Gabriel, the paramedic from the fire the other week.” There was a pause. “No no, everything is fine, I’m just ringing to check up on my favourite handsy frat boy.” Another pause. Gabe laughed. “He’s sitting here right now, actually, and I’ve gotta tell you I am pretty sick of listening to him talk about how badly he wants to suck your di-” Dean grabbed for the phone again but missed, and Gabe was dancing out of reach, yelling explicit things down the phone and getting scandalised glares from the other café patrons. “He wants to stick his tongue down your throat and cover you in whipped cream,” Gabe was shouting, trying to hold the phone away from Dean while still yelling down it. “He wants to shower you in rose petals!” Dean finally grabbed the phone and pushed Gabriel into a nearby hedge, which didn’t stop him from yelling “HE WANTS YOUR SWEET ASS” at the top of his lungs.

Everyone in the café was staring, and Dean took his seat again, trying to act nonchalant. Gabriel was laughing so hard he couldn’t get himself out of the hedge, and Dean made no move to help him.

He put the phone against his hear. “Uh, Sam?”

“Hey, Dean,” said Sam’s amused voice at the other end.

“S-sorry about that,” Dean apologised, sweating. “Gabe is... he’s cool but he doesn’t have a filter.”

“I’m glad you rang,” Sam replied.

“Uh, yeah, I uh... was wondering if you wanted to, i dunno, go and see a movie or something?” He winced.

There was a pause. “A movie?” Sam asked, and he sounded disbelieving.

“Or something...” Dean trailed off.

It sounded like Sam was chuckling to himself, but it was hard to tell because Gabe had just returned to the table and was still laughing as well.

“Sure, I’ll go see a movie with you. When?”

“Um, do you know the old cinema near St. Marks? It’s called The Royale.”

“I think I saw it the other day.”

“7pm?”

“7pm. See you then, Dean,” and then Sam was hanging up. Dean didn’t move for a few seconds, and then Gabriel leaned forward and peeled the phone off his ear.

“So,” his friend said, “you’ve got a date tonight, huh? Where are you going? Clubbing? Local pub?"

“Um, The Royale.”

There was a pause, in which Gabriel, for the first time in their friendship, stared at Dean, speechless. “A _movie_?” Dean nodded. Gabe just shook his head. “Sometimes I don’t know how you and I are friends, you old fart. I think you were born in the wrong century.”

That afternoon, Dean agonised over his wardrobe. All his clothes were functional, made for working out at the gym or slipping on underneath his uniform. He eventually just chose a pair of relatively unblemished jeans, and a black t-shirt. Gabriel had worried him with the idea that a movie wasn’t a good idea for a first date, and now he was fretting over everything. Should he shave again? He had only shaved that morning but a shadow had already grown along his jaw. Should he spike his hair with gel? Should he wear cologne?

In the end, he ignored the advice from his worried brain, and the constant texts from Gabe that told him to shave _everywhere_ , and he left his flat at 6.35 precisely, aiming for the 6.38 bus that took 20 minutes to get to St. Marks.

The 6.38 didn’t arrive until 6.48, slowed by traffic that had the roads at a standstill. Dean got off the bus a few blocks from The Royale and ran the rest of the way, horrified that he was nearly 10 minutes late. He sprinted into the foyer and saw Sam sitting next to the theatre, his long legs stretched in front of him, unhurriedly texting on his phone.

“Hey,” he panted, hurrying over to Sam.

“Hey!” said Sam, grinning up at him, then frowning. “Why are you so red? Did you run here?”

“My bus was running late, I’m so sorry you had to wait.”

“Hey, that rhymed! You’re a poet and you didn’t know it.” Sam winked. Dean gaped at him.

“You’re not... mad?”

“Mad?” Sam blinked. “What, that you’re late? Dean. It’s like 5 minutes past 7. I only got here a second before you did.” He gazed at Dean and the edge of a smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “You don’t do this very often, do you?”

“Um,” Dean said.

“So what are we seeing, anyway?”

“Probably a 1980′s superman movie or something. The owner of this place puts an old film on once a week, and he’s in love with the original superheroes.” Then he paused, remembering what Gabriel had said. “Or, you know, we could go to a pub or something instead.”

Sam smirked. “I’m guessing your friend told you that our generation doesn’t do movies these days?”

Dean fidgeted. He felt like he was making a complete fool of himself, but Sam slid an arm around his waist and kissed him, chastely, on the corner of his mouth.

“I like it,” said Sam against his ear.

Dean payed for two tickets and nodded at Reg, who saw him every week. Reg winked at him when he noticed Sam’s hand around his waist. Dean blushed.

Sam led him straight to the back row, where it was completely dark. Dean stumbled as he found his seat, and stumbled again when Sam lifted the armrest up immediately so he could pull Dean down and curl against him, head resting on his shoulder.

They didn’t say anything as the movie started, a black and white film featuring a beefy guy in spandex. The first time he turned around, showing an ass that was still defined even with the 80’s film, Sam whistled quietly in Dean’s ear. Dean chuckled. He was having a hard time concentrating on the plot, what with Sam’s hair tickling his neck, and his hot breath against Dean’s ear. Luckily these old movies weren’t subtle enough to require constant viewing. The bad guy spent half his screen time laughing evilly, and Dean didn’t have to focus too hard to figure out when spandex-man was busting ass.

In a fight scene, Sam laughed joyously at the theatricality of the acting, people throwing wide punches and getting knocked backwards. Sam added sound effects, like an old school batman show, saying “kaPOW” and “WHAM” every time someone got hit. The movie also had a dramatic girl with curly hair who was always fainting and kept getting robbed or kidnapped.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” the spandex clad man said to her.

“I’m gay,” finished Sam.

“I’m high,” said Dean.

“You have something in your teeth.”

“I’m in love with your mother.”

“I’m in love with your grandmother.”

“I’m in love with your grandfather.”

“Because I’m gay.”

The couple were kissing on screen, oblivious to Sam and Dean, who were stifling their laughter.

There were also scenes where a small boy had his hair ruffled. “Golly gee,” whispered Sam, making Dean snort, and later a bad guy got thrown into a pool of sharks. Sam and Dean laughed the whole way through the movie. When the credits began to roll, Sam stopped Dean from getting up by putting a hand on his knee.

“I really enjoyed the movie,” he told Dean quietly, leaning in. Dean wondered if Sam was going to kiss him again, but then the lights came on and the moment passed, and they exited the theatre. Dean fidgeted nervously. Should he have kissed Sam? Was it weird that he hadn’t?

He turned to Sam, who had turned his phone back on and was frowning. Was he annoyed that Dean hadn’t made a move? He looked pretty annoyed about something. When Sam looked up, Dean didn’t let him speak, he just grabbed the back of his neck and leaned in, pressing his mouth against Sam’s. Sam stood frozen for a moment, then pulled back.

“Dean, I – I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“Wha-“ Dean blushed furiously. Idiot! He shouldn’t have kissed Sam at all! “We can get some pizza or something?”

But Sam was already backing away, looking distracted. “Sorry, Dean, I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go!” And then he was pushing the foyer door open and leaving.

“Looks like yeh lost yeh date!” said Reg from behind the counter. “If he don’t appreciate the classics then it’s his loss, Deano!”

“Does my breath smell?” Dean asked him, leaning over the counter.

Reg made a show of waving his hand in front of his face, “Peee-yoooo!” he grimaced, and then grinned. “Jus’ kiddin’, Deano. Ain’t nothin’ the matter with yeh that I can tell. That kid musta had somethin’ else on his mind.”

His stomach plummeted. He’d blown it. Sam hadn’t even waited five minutes before he’d made his escape. Was he a terrible kisser? He trudged home, alone and crestfallen. What was he going to do now?


	5. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam orders Dean to get undressed, and Dean makes a mess of his mirror.

A week later and still nothing from Sam.

“You didn’t even sleep with him,” Gabe reminded him sternly.

“Yeah but I _kissed_ him, and then he ran. Should I ring and apologise?”

“YES you should ring him, NO you should not apologise. _Never_ apologise for kissing hot guys, Dean. Have I taught you nothing?”

Dean stared sombrely at his coffee. He was beginning to hate these weekly coffee dates with Gabriel. There always seemed to be something bad happening. First the hospital visit, then Gabe’s inappropriate phone call, and now this… the silent stretch with not a single word from Sam.

“He hates me,” Dean moped.

“I would hate you too if I could see you like this. Oh wait, I am seeing you like this. Pull it together man and just _call him_. You can invite him to that gala tomorrow night!”

Dean pulled his phone out and stared at it, but he wasn’t dumb enough to type Sam’s number in again, not when Gabe and his twitchy fingers were sitting right next to him.

As he stared at his phone, it began to ring. He jumped, dropped it in panic, and scrambled to answer. “Sam?” he asked hopefully

“YES HOW DID YOU KNOW?” said an enthusiastic voice at the other end that didn’t sound like Sam at all.

“Hey, Samandriel,” Dean said weakly. “how did you get my number?”

“I STOLE IT FROM SAM TWO BECAUSE HE LEFT HIS PHONE OUT AND I’M EXCITED TO TALK TO YOU BUT I’M ALSO REALLY MAD BECAUSE YOU HAVEN’T CALLED SAM TWO AND HE THINKS YOU HATE HIM BUT I KNOW YOU DON’T HATE HIM BECAUSE YOU BROUGHT HIM A TEDDY BEAR IN THE HOSPITAL.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Dean said, cringing, “tone it down there, Sam. No need to yell.”

“But you _don’t_ hate him do you?” Samandriel asked, only marginally quieter than before.

“Of course I don’t, but –“

“OKAY GREAT THEN I’LL PUT HIM ON RIGHT NOW!”

“ _Woah_ , hold up there, man!”

“But you have to tell him that you don’t hate him!”

“Yeah but _he_ hates _me_!” Dean cried. “He left without even saying goodbye!”

There was a pause.

“Oh,” said Samandriel eventually, quiet and sad. “Is that why you’re mad? You shouldn’t be mad at Sam Two because he didn’t mean it. He just… he had to leave real quick because I got sick again.”

Gabe was making grabbing hands at the phone, motioning to Dean that if he didn’t tell him what was going on he was going to steal Dean’s phone off him. Dean pushed him back.

“Oh, Samandriel, Jesus man are you ok?”

“YEAH! I’m better now but I only just got out of hospital and you didn’t come to visit me this time!”

“S-sorry,” Dean spluttered.

“That’s ok I forgive you but I’ll forgive you times infinity if you call Sam and tell him you don’t hate him. He’s really mopey and he keeps watching this old boring movie that doesn’t even have spiderman but it does have a guy getting eaten by sharks so I guess it’s kind of cool.”

“Uh, okay,” Dean said.

“YAY THANK YOU I’LL PUT SAM TWO ON NOW.”

“Woah hang on man hold up just give me a second!” Dean said, but then Sam’s voice was on the other end of the phone.

“Hello?” it said, confused. “Who is this?”

“Uh, hey, Sam. It’s… It’s Dean Winchester.” He flinched. Why did he use his full name?

“Dean?”

“Yeah.”

There was an awkward pause, then they both started talking at once.

“Look, I’m sorry I had to leave –“

“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that –“

They both paused again.

“You… shouldn’t have _kissed_ me?” Sam asked eventually. Dean grimaced.

“I-I’m sorry. It was so inappropriate.” He paused. “I mean, in the middle of the foyer, and, and on the lips…”

Sam snorted. “Dean,” he said, “you can kiss me anywhere you want and in anyplace you want. _I’m_ sorry. I ran out of there so quick.”

“I thought you were running out because I kissed you.”

“I, uh, had to leave really quickly.”

“Samandriel told me.”

Sam paused. “He did, did he?” There was another pause, and Dean could hear Sam talking to someone else, presumably Samandriel.

“Look… Sam One, I mean Samandriel… he isn’t well, but it’s not, you know, something he talks about all that much. I’ve been keeping him company since I met him after the fire.”

“So you didn’t leave because I kissed you?”

“Oh my _god_ , Dean, do you think I’m some kind of prude?”

Gabriel had finally grown tired of being ignored. “Invite him to the gala!” he shouted at Dean.

“What gala?” Sam asked, overhearing.

“Er… There’s this thing on tomorrow night, like a charity event for St. Marks. Since we’re the regional fire department we go along to help out and meet some of the guests. Do you, um… want to come? I’m allowed to bring a –“ _friend_ , he almost said, and then quickly changed to “date. I’m allowed to bring a date.”

“You promise you’re not mad at me for leaving the other day?”

“No!” said Dean, shocked. “Of course not!”

“Okay,” said Sam slowly. “I’m free tomorrow night. What do I wear?”

“It’s black tie.”

“Do I get to see you in a tux?”

Dean blushed, but before he could reply there was a scuffle on the other end of the phone.

“ARE YOU GOING ON A DATE ARE YOU GOING TO GET MARRIED?”

Dean laughed, and was still laughing when he hung up the phone a few minutes later after giving Sam the details. His heart felt about a hundred times lighter.

Gabe was looking at him murderously. “Spill. The. Beans.”

Dean laughed again, joyously, and told his friend everything.

This,” said Gabe, “is fan _tastic_.”

“Because he doesn’t hate me?”

“Yeah, that too, but I mean… There is no man or woman alive who can look at you in a suit and not want to fuck you.” Dean blushed, but Gabe held up his hand. “Don’t fight me on this one, kiddo. I saw you at last year’s gala, and _that_ was in an old second hand suit.”

“I’ll be wearing the same suit, Gabe.”

Gabriel snorted. “Yeah, right. We’re going _shopping_.”

\------------------------------

That afternoon found Dean with a significantly lighter pocket. He’d almost convinced Gabe to let him rent a suit (“I’m only going to wear it _once_ ”) but his friend had forced him into buying new. It wasn’t like Dean spent much money, and his savings could definitely cover the cost, but he kept reminding Gabe that he was going to a _charity_ event, and it wasn’t right to spend more beforehand than at the actual event. Eventually, Gabe reminded him that he could sell the suit after, and donate the money. When Dean finally caved, Gabe took full control of the situation, pushing Dean in and out of changing rooms, semi-clothed, to parade him in front of mirrors while a stern older man measured him. The whole time, Gabe had muttered things like “Oh _damn_ , that boy is in for a treat,” and “yes, yes, minimal shoulder padding because you’re already so big,” and “the double breast? No, no, but the extra detailing _here_ , yes,” so that by the end of their shopping trip Dean was exhausted and he didn’t know whether he should be self-conscious or self-assured. Just the kind of emotional rollercoaster he needed before a gala.

 _I’m going to see Sam tonight_ , he reminded himself the next day, staring at his reflection. Gabe seemed to think Dean looked good in his new suit, would Sam agree? What would they talk about? Dean knew so little about him, but loved everything he knew so far. Would Sam find him uninteresting in comparison?

He pulled on his gym gear, deciding he would work off some of his anxiety. His phone buzzed, and he opened the text that had just arrived. It was from Sam.

 _Are you up?_ it read

Dean hit the call button.

“Um, hey?” said Sam. “I’m guessing you’re awake then.”

“Yep. What’s up?”

“Uh, nothing… Just texting to see how your shift was last night. Did you get enough sleep?”

“Yeah my sergeant let me off early so I could rest up for tonight. And now my weekend starts!”

“It’s a Monday,” Sam laughed.

“Yeah I get Mondays and Tuesdays off! It’s a non-traditional weekend!” He paused. “I feel like I talk to you on the phone more than in real life.”

“You know no one actually calls each other anymore, right? Everyone just texts. Except for, you know, phone sex I guess.”

 _“Phone sex_?” Dean gaped at his reflection.

“Not _with a phone_ ,” Sam laughed, “ _on_ a phone. Were you raised under a rock?”

“Sex _on the phone_?” Dean repeated.

“Yeah,” said Sam. “Like, ‘hey babe what are you wearing’?”

“Gym gear,” Dean replied, confused.

Sam laughed again. “I meant that rhetorically, Dean.”

There was a pause.

“What are _you_ wearing?” Dean asked curiously.

Sam didn’t even hesitate. “A Victorian ball gown and a top hat.” His voice lowered. “But under that, _nothing_.”

Dean laughed out loud.

“Hey,” said Sam, “do you want to try something?”

“Sure,” replied Dean, trusting Sam implicitly.

“Put your phone on speaker.” Dean obeyed. “Now take off your clothes and stand in front of the mirror.”

“Wha-“ said Dean, but Sam cut over the top of him.

“Just do it. Trust me.”

Dean shivered as he took his clothes off, but not from the temperature. He had been naked only minutes earlier as he got changed, but it was different now, with Sam on the phone.

“Okay,” he said out loud, eyeing himself in the mirror.

“Do you have any scars or tattoos or anything?”

“I have a few scars. Burns, mostly. On my wrists an arms. A big scar on my stomach from an accident when I was eight. Why?”

“I just want to picture what you’re seeing right now,” Sam said, voice thick with lust. Dean shivered again, and his reflection shivered with him. “Put one finger on your lips,” Sam told him now. Dean complied. “This is where I’m going to kiss you first, tonight.” Dean thrilled. He got to kiss Sam! Again! Tonight! “Now put your finger on your neck, just below your ear. This is where I’m going to kiss you next.” Dean was panting, and his finger trembled. He was hard, and his reflection was glaze-eyed with desire. “Drag your finger down the front of your body,” Sam commanded. “I’m going to lick straight down that line tonight.” Dean groaned, loud enough for Sam to hear him on speaker. “Is there anywhere else you want me to kiss, tonight?” Sam asked cheekily. Dean groaned again, and reached for himself. “Don’t touch yourself!” Sam said. “Not until I say you can. Answer the question.”

“Yes,” Dean panted, rocking his hips against air. “Yes, I want you to kiss me, kiss me everywhere.”

“Be specific,” Sam chided, and Dean could hear the smirk in his voice.

Dean looked at himself in the mirror again and wasn’t surprised to see how blissed out he already looked. He desperately wanted to touch himself but didn’t want to disobey Sam. Where _did_ he want Sam to touch? The answer bobbed in front of him, hard and red in the mirror, demanding his hand, or Sam’s hand, or Sam’s lips.

“M-My dick,” Dean finally choked, “ _fuck_.”

Sam hummed with pleasure. “I want to kiss your dick too, Dean. I want to suck you down right now, take your whole cock into my mouth. _God_ , Dean, would you like that?”

“Yes, Sam, _yes_ , oh god”

“I’m going to let you touch yourself in a moment, Dean, and when I do I want you to use only your right hand. Okay, now. Wrap your hand around your dick, Dean. Tell me how it feels.”

 _Amazing_ is how it felt. More amazing than a regular hand job had any right to feel, really.

“G-good, Sam. I’m s-so hard already. But I wish it was you here, not my reflection.”

“I wish that too, so much,” Sam replied, then added, wickedly, “but I’ll be seeing you tonight, gorgeous.”

“Not if I see you first,” Dean quipped back automatically.

Sam chuckled, then his voice returned to business. “Stroke yourself now, Dean. Slowly.” Dean obeyed, and growled. He kept the pace infuriatingly slow, keeping himself on the brink. “Imagine I’m the one touching you,” said Sam. “Imagine I’m kneeling in front of you.” Dean closed his eyes, could almost picture Sam on his knees. “The first thing I would do is stroke you, just like this, long and hard and slow, until you’re _begging_ me to come.

“God, Sam, _please_.”

“Not yet. Soon. You’re being so good for me. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” He paused before continuing. “The next thing I would do is wrap my lips around you, just the tip, and suck.” Dean bucked into his hand.

“And then?” he choked, feeling his dick twitch.

“Then? Then I would slide my lips all the way to the base of your cock,” Sam was speaking faster, gasping, “and swallow and swallow around you until you came, and I would drink everything you gave me down, Dean, _fuck_ , Dean, _yes_.”

Dean came into his hand and onto the mirror, groaning loudly. Sam continued swearing on the phone, moaning Dean’s name out.

Dean collapsed backward onto the bed, and stared at his ceiling. His dick twitched feebly as it gave one last jet of come, painting his stomach to match his hand and the glass of the mirror. On the phone, Sam was quiet too.

The silence lasted a minute.

Eventually, Dean said, “so that was phone sex, huh?”

“Did you like it?” Sam asked.

“I’m not sure,” Dean replied. “We’re probably going to have to try it again to find out.”


	6. Blaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gala

Dean was just locking the door to his apartment when he heard the honking outside. He hurried downstairs and got into the waiting car.

“You’re early,” he told Gabe, who was grinning at him. “Hi, Anna,” he added.

“We are literally one minute early,” Anna replied. “And if we were one minute late you’d be standing outside waiting for us.”

“I always wait outside for you.”

“You are so freaking punctual, Dean. It’s weird. Anyway, we’re on time today because Gabe here was too excited to meet your new boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Dean scoffed.

“You luuuuurve him,” Gabriel sang, grinning hard.

Dean sighed. He should have driven himself, but Gabe had insisted on getting a lift with his sister, Anna, who was a doctor in the ER at St. Marks. He now realised that this was so Gabe could stare at Sam and Dean sitting together.

“Listen here, Gabe,” Dean began. “I forbid you from being weird, or talking about sex, or doing anything stupid with Sam in the car. Capiche?”

Gabriel waved his hand. “Oh sure, sure. As if I would!” But he was still grinning devilishly. Dean glared at him in what he hoped was a menacing way. He would have liked to warn his friend off again, but Anna pulled the car over and he realised that they had arrived at Sam’s new place.

“Want me to honk?” Anna asked.

“Please,” Gabe scoffed. “Dean’s going to go to the front door like the chivalrous eighty year old he is.”

Dean was already half out of the car, but he leaned back in when he heard Gabe. “Should I... should I not go to the front door?”

“Go get him, tiger,” Anna told him.

“Remember to tell his dad that you’ll be home by eleven,” Gabe added.

As Dean walked up the front path he tried to work out if he was being made fun of. Luckily, he wasn’t subjected to Sam’s dad or anyone else, because Sam came out the front door before Dean had even reached it. Dean stopped dead. Sam’s suit was dark blue and his shirt was pale blue, almost white. His usually messy hair had been swept back and Dean could have sworn his skin actually glowed. He looked, well, gorgeous. Like some kind of bronze god. He wasn’t wearing a tie and his top button had been left open, exposing his neck and the edge of one collarbone. Dean’s mouth went dry when he looked at it.

The car honked and both Sam and Dean jumped.

“Are you just going to stare at each other all night?” yelled Gabe.

Sam closed in on Dean and put a hand on his cheek, angling Dean’s head upward so he could lean down and kiss him, hard. Dean remembered how only a few hours earlier, Sam had told him that he would kiss Dean here, on the lips. Then Dean remembered what the rest of that conversation had led to, and he blushed fiercely, warmth spreading through him like whiskey. A bubble of happiness rose in his chest, and when Sam broke the kiss Dean let it out, laughing with joy.

“It’s good to see you,” Sam said quietly.

Gabe whooped from the car, catcalling.

\-------------------------------------------

The St. Marks gala, Dean explained to Sam, was an annual fundraising event held in a huge hall near the hospital. Everyone went. Nurses, doctors, cleaning staff, receptionists, volunteers, the local police department, and even the lunch lady. Each year the different groups competed to raise the most money. Last year, the nurses had won by auctioning dances to the crowd. Dean, egged on by Gabe and a few beers, had bid on one of the dances and, blushing hard, had taken a gorgeous red-head onto the dance floor for a waltz. Gabe had joined him, leading a bemused male nurse on to the floor and proceeding to dance with such fervour and idiocy that the rest of the room had soon joined, laughing.

“What are you doing this year?” Sam asked, when Dean told him about the competition.

Gabriel snorted and eyed Dean in the rear-view mirror. “Yeah, Dean,” he said , trying to act innocent and failing, “what _are_ you doing this year?”

With a sudden jolt of horror, Dean remembered what the fire department had organised for their fundraiser, and his stomach dropped.

_Uh oh_.

He was saved from answering, though, when Anna pulled over and barked at them to get out so she could park the car. Gabe, Sam and Dean piled out, thanking her for the lift, and made their way into the hall. It had been decorated with the same billowing fabric as last year, and a live band played quietly in the corner. The atmosphere was friendly and energetic, and no one was drunk enough to be causing mayhem yet. He saw some of his team standing next to their table on the other side of the room, and they waved him over. Dean waved back, but didn’t go to join them. He had to keep Sam away from their fundraisers.

“Uh, can I get you a drink, Sam?” he asked.

Gabriel waggled his eyebrows. “Trying to get him drunk already? You crafty bastar-” Dean stamped on his foot.

“I’ll have a beer, thanks,” Sam said to Dean, smiling at Gabriel’s remark.”And since the medical expert here thinks he knows best you should probably get him something, too. I’m thinking a mojito to match his suit.”

Gabe was wearing a white suit with a lime green shirt. “Clearly this is midori attire,” he told Sam, gesturing to himself. Dean chuckled and left them to it.

When he returned with two beers and the girliest cocktail he could think of, the conversation had shifted to Sam’s studies. Dean wanted to listen, desperate for any information about Sam, but his team was waving him over again. When he was satisfied that Gabe and Sam were suitably distracted, he wandered over to the fundraising table.

“Hey, guys, how are we doing?” he asked.

“We’re second to the nurses again, Dean! Can you guess what they’ve done this year?”

Dean groaned. “What?”

“They’re selling _bras_ , for chrissakes. And they’re each selling only the size that they wear. Look at Lucy! She’s selling 32DDs! They’re going to beat us _again_!”

The whole team glared across at the nurses, who saw them staring and cooed back at them, making kissy faces and fluttering their lashes exaggeratedly. Lucy, the red head who had danced with Dean last year, waved a bra at him, winking. He immediately felt himself blushing.

“The night’s still young,” he reminded the team. “We still have a chance. Anyway I have to get back to my -”

“You. Are. _Joking_.” Came a voice from behind him, and Dean’s insides somersaulted. Sam had found the fundraising table.

“Hi!” someone said cheerfully. “Can I interest you in a calendar? It’s for a good cause!”

Dean groaned. What was Sam going to say? He turned around, and saw Gabe doubled over with silent laughter, tears streaming down his face. As if in slow motion, he saw Sam reach out to pick one of the calendars up. The cover had a picture of a fireman wearing pants and suspenders, cradling a labradour puppy against his bare chest with one hand. A fire blazed enticingly in the background. The guy on the cover was Dean. He groaned again.

“There’s a different calendar for every taste! We have puppies, kittens, search and rescue, team photos, head shots. All the money raised goes to the St. Marks charity!”

“Search and rescue?” Sam asked, flicking through the puppy calendar. He was handed a different calendar, featuring a shirtless fireman covered in mud in front of a dense thicket. He was holding a mattock slung over one shoulder and a coiled hose in the other. “Holy shit,” Sam said, then looked up at Dean. “Are you in this one too?”

“September,” said Gabe, still bent over with laughter.

Dean made to grab the calendar out of Sam’s hands, but he had already flicked through to September. Sam choked.

Dean was standing on a rocky outcrop above a twinkling lake. He was turned away from the camera and he had a pair of binoculars to his eyes, as if he was scanning the horizon. Apart from a pair of sturdy boots and the binocular strap around his neck, he was completely naked.

“I’ll take one of each,” Sam said, reaching for his wallet.

Dean glared at Gabriel, who shrugged, wiping his eyes. “Did you bring protection? Because he hasn’t even seen the one of you on the ladder covered in oil and -” Dean glared him down before he could finish.

“The what now?” Sam asked, turning away from the table and smiling broadly. Dean was struck again by how gorgeous Sam was, and a part of him was thrilling with delight that he had put that smile on his face.

Then Sam’s eyes got darker and Dean’s knees went wobbly. They stared at each other until Gabe coughed pointedly.

“The nurses are still beating us, though,” one of his teammates was saying.

Sam scoffed. “They’re just being more showy. We can totally beat them.” He reached up and undid Dean’s tie, then popped open his top two buttons. “Hey ladies,” he said to Anna and another doctor who had just arrived. “Can I interest you in some guilt-free... _charity_?” He said the last word as though it was something dirty. Anna’s friend giggled. Dean went bright red.

“Sorry boys,” said Anna, “but we’ve already bought bras. The nurses have you beat.”

“Oh I don’t know about _that_ ,” Sam replied, and he walked behind Dean and looped his arms around Dean’s shoulders, smoothing Dean’s shirt with ginormous hands. Anna’s friend giggled again. Sam undid another button and Dean squirmed. Sam hugged him tighter, a solid warmth against Dean’s back. He licked against the sensitive spot behind Dean’s ear, kissed it lightly, then rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder. Dean remembered the phone conversation again, and shivered. “Don’t you want to see more, ladies?” Sam asked them, trailing a finger down the hollow of Dean’s throat. Dean shivered again. He must look ridiculous.

“Oh I sure _do_ ,” Anna’s giggling friend said, reaching a finger out to touch Dean’s skin. Sam used his hand to redirect her finger until it was pointing at the calendars.

“You can have all this for a _whole year_ ,” he said, right into Dean’s ear. She reached for her purse.

\---------------------------

20 minutes later, Dean and Sam finally extricated themselves from the gaggle of women flocking around the table. Dean tried to straighten his shirt, but Sam kept getting in the way, undoing more buttons as Dean tried to do them up. Sam leaned in and kissed him lightly, looping Dean’s tie back around his neck and using it to pull Dean closer. They stared at each other. “You look amazing tonight,” Sam whispered against his lips. “Beautiful.” 

Dean was about to reply when one of the nurses threw a bra at them. “Stop it you two!” she yelled. “You’re bad for business!”

Sam grinned, then leaned back and finished the knot on Dean’s tie. He turned to the nurse’s table.

“My sincerest apologies, ladies. Perhaps I can make it up to you.” He winked, and she melted.

“Oh, well, I suppose, I mean if you were to...”

Grinning like a fool, Dean joined Sam at the table, and shook his head as Sam and Lucy discussed the merits of bra padding.

By the end of the night, Dean had a DD bra, a stubby cooler with the police logo on it, and two bars of handmade soap from Anna, who could have almost opened a pharmacy at the doctor’s table. Sam had bought a massage from one of the cleaning staff, and was moaning loudly as she dug her fingers into the muscles on his back. He had taken his suit jacket off and Dean watched his face morph in pleasure when his talented masseuse rubbed a spot between his shoulder blades. A wicked part of his mind stored that detail for later.

He was pleasantly drunk, and clapped loudly with his team when the nurses were announced as the fundraising winners, only narrowly beating the fire department. His team praised Sam for his quick thinking and marketing strategies, and bequeathed him with a gigantic poster, telling him not to open it until he was home. From Gabriel’s face, Dean had the suspicion that the poster probably featured a ladder.

Dean did one last route around the table, saying goodbye to his friends, and then looked about for Anna. His phone buzzed.

_We just left_ , read the text from Gabe. _You’ll have to get a taxi home._

Dean grit his teeth. Sam, who had been reading over his shoulder, hummed, then looped his arm around Dean’s waist and steered him to the exit.

“We’ll only need one taxi,” he whispered into Dean’s ear. “Tonight I’m being taken home by a sexy fireman in a suit, and then... I’m being taken by a sexy fireman _not_ in a suit.”

Dean’s legs almost gave out, but Sam kept him steady with his arm. He let himself get directed toward a waiting taxi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the calendar descriptions [here](https://www.firefighterscalendar.com.au/) and [here](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-3545058/Firefighters-strip-2017-Firefighter-s-Calendar-Australia.html)  
> The second link has firefighters with puppies. You have been warned.
> 
> Only one more chapter to go friends :o :o


	7. Inferno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is substantially longer than my other updates, but I wanted to give our firefighter everything he's ever wanted. Please leave feedback if you liked it, (or, hell, even if you didn't). <3 <3

“So, uh, this is my place,” Dean said lamely, waving a hand at his tiny kitchen and the rest of the apartment.

Sam shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, looking around himself. “It’s so clean," he mused.

Dean didn’t know if that was good or bad. He felt nervous and fidgety. He had hardly talked to Sam on the drive home, and the collar of his shirt kept getting tighter and tighter. “There’s beer in the fridge,” he said out loud, not looking at Sam. “Just gimme a sec, I’ll be right out,” and then he stumbled into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. _What am I doing_ , he asked his reflection. Bringing a smart and attractive guy back to his place? That was dumb. _Shit_. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but his suit felt like it was suffocating him. He took the jacket off and fumbled at his tie, his fingers slipping on the knot. When he finally loosened it he ripped it free and threw it at the bathtub. He looked at himself in the mirror. Sweaty. Pale. Stubble had already grown across his chin and it made his face look shadowed. What could Sam possibly see in him? He was just some fireman who happened to stumble across Sam in a burning kitchen. Any of his team could have done that. He splashed cold water on his face, letting it drip down his chin and onto his chest. He focused on his breathing, trying to remember the 12 yoga steps or whatever it was. In, hold, out, hold, in, hold, out. He waited for the tension to leak out of his shoulders like it usually did, but his reflection looked just as pale and scared as before. Sam was in his apartment right now, probably wondering what he was doing. Sam was going to look at his tiny apartment and his tiny bedroom and his tiny life and he was going to remember that Dean was just some nobody and Dean would be left to watch him leave. Dean’s breath grew ragged again.

There was a knock on the door. “You okay?” Sam called.

Dean took a second to answer, trying to make his voice steady. “Yep,” he eventually squeaked. _Damn_.

The door opened slowly, and Sam peeked into the bathroom. Dean had no idea what expression was on his face, but it made Sam’s eyebrows bunch. He came up behind Dean and locked eyes with him in the mirror. He didn’t touch Dean anywhere, but Dean could _feel_ him standing there, as though his body were an antennae attuned only to Sam.

“I’m sorry I’m so forward,” Sam told Dean’s reflection. “But when I see something I want I don’t like to play coy.”

The hair on Dean’s arms stood on end. Sam _did_ want him. “Why?” he whispered. “Why me?”

Sam took a tiny step forward until he was standing against Dean’s back. If he wanted to, Dean could lean his weight against that broad chest. He quivered.

“You carried me out of a burning house, that first night,” Sam said quietly into his ear.

“Anyone could have -”

“I’m 6 foot 3, Dean. I was blind drunk and I still almost came in my pants when you picked me up. As if I weighed nothing.” Dean remembered the way Sam’s fingers had fumbled at his buttons. “But that’s just what made me take notice,” Sam continued. “You came to the hospital, after. You made Samandriel smile. I would have loved you just for that, just for giving that kid something to laugh about.” Sam’s hands came up to rest on Dean’s shoulders, rubbing small circles against him. He leaned closer to whisper in Dean’s ear. “The way you swore when I touched you. The way your whole body tensed up, like I was holding your soul, not your dick. _Shit_ , Dean, just the way you look at me, like your surprised to see me, every time.

“I _am_ surprised to see you,” Dean conceded quietly.

Sam’s breath was hot against his ear. “I’m not going anywhere, Dean. I want this. Want _you_.” Dean shivered involuntarily. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck were awake with Sam’s proximity. They stared at each other in the mirror.

“You know why I came here tonight, Dean,” Sam whispered, licking the shell of his ear. “You know what I want to do to you. What I want to do _with_ you.” He bit gently at a sensitive lobe, tugging at it with his teeth, before letting go. “But I’m a patient guy. If you’re not ready, I’ll wait.Tonight I’ll settle for kissing you, and I’ll kiss you until the sun comes up if I have to, but nothing else. Maybe tomorrow night I’ll show you everything else. Maybe next week. Maybe a year from now.” His voice got lower, “I’ll wait, Dean. I want all of you. Your mind, your heart. The midnight movies at The Royale, and the way you open doors for me. I want the guy who comes to visit some drunk kid at the hospital. I want the guy who buys teddy bears for strangers. And yes, I want the naked fireman standing on a ladder covered in oil, too, but we can wait. _I_ can wait.”

There was a long, long minute where they stared at each other in the mirror. “Okay,” Dean whispered finally, breaking the silence. Then he turned around, wanting to see Sam’s face instead of his reflection. They were so close that Dean had to tilt his head to look up at Sam. There was something infinitely peaceful in his expression. A tiny smile. Sam leaned down and kissed him, softly, chastely. Something tight in Dean’s chest came loose, and he felt himself relax.

“How about that beer?” he grinned.

The kitchen looked different. Brighter. Dean wondered if the sun was rising, or if his eyes were somehow absorbing more light. Maybe the world would forever be brighter after tonight. They toasted, clinking bottles, and Dean watched as Sam brought the bottle to his mouth. The way his lips parted. The way his adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. Dean licked his lips. Sam had told him that he would wait for Dean, that they could spend tonight talking and kissing and that nothing else had to happen. Is that what he wanted? He took a long drink as he thought. _Yes_ , he decided. He wanted Sam all to himself, and he wanted to talk with Sam all night, maybe the next day as well. But Sam wasn’t going anywhere. There would be time for that later. Their whole lives, maybe. As Dean watched Sam’s lips against the beer bottle, he remembered that afternoon, when Sam had told him to imagine Sam kneeling at his feet. A punch of lust hit Dean, hard, and he realised he didn’t want to wait. A deep and hidden part of him had been irreversibly tied to Sam, and there would be no going back. He didn’t want to, anyway. He wanted to lay Sam out on his bed and kiss every part of him. He wanted to touch Sam, hold him. He wanted _everything_ , and he wanted it tonight.

The force of his desire caught him by surprise. _Careful, careful_ , whispered that cautious part of his mind, but the rest of his brain was too busy scheming to listen. Dean smiled inwardly, but kept his face bland. He stretched his arms out, giving an exaggerated yawn, breathing in deeply so his chest expanded. “It’s been a long night,” he told Sam, ignoring the way Sam was eyeing him. “Bed?”

They slipped into Dean’s room, and Dean automatically lit the three candles on his bedside table. Sam raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

“There’s an extinguisher behind the door,” Dean said, laughing. “I just prefer candlelight to a lamp.” Then he unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, pretending not to notice as Sam stared. He let the shirt slide off his arms and pool on the floor by his feet. He toed his new shoes off as well. Sam was unnaturally still, and Dean stopped himself from shivering at the hungry look in his eyes. He nodded to the mirror behind Sam. “I was standing there a few hours ago,” he said calmly, as though he were talking about the weather. “My phone was on that table there, while you talked.” Sam turned slightly to look at the mirror and his eyes widened, realising what Dean was referring to. Sam gaped at the mirror and Dean used the distraction to quickly remove his pants, so that when Sam turned around Dean was standing in nothing but his boxers. His skin broke out in goosebumps. Sam was still completely dressed.

“What kind of game are you playing at?” Sam almost growled. Dean shrugged.

“Just getting ready for bed,” he said casually. Then he fell backward against the mattress, letting his legs dangle off the side, his feet against the floor. He sprawled against the covers and stretched his arms out again, flexing subtly as he did. He let his knees fall open slightly. When he opened his eyes Sam was standing over him, panting. Dean muffled a groan when he noticed that Sam was hard, an obvious bulge in his pants.

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam growled, his voice low. A warning.

“I don’t want to wait,” Dean whispered. And then Sam was on him, dropping in between Dean’s thighs and grabbing at him blindly. One hand on Dean’s leg, pulling it up so Dean wrapped his thigh around Sam, jerking Sam’s erection against his own. One hand at the back of Dean’s head, Sam’s palm so freaking big that it felt like he was holding Dean’s skull, angling it just right. There was something animal in the way Sam claimed his mouth, the way he bit at Dean’s bottom lip, waiting for Dean to gasp so he could slide his tongue into Dean’s open mouth. Dean had his hands on Sam’s face, on his sides, pulling at the fabric of Sam’s shirt. He wanted it off, wanted Sam naked in front of him at last. He tugged at the buttons, but found no purchase. Sam’s clever fingers found a nipple and pinched, and Dean’s back arched off the bed. 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he wheezed, forgetting about the buttons. Sam did it again, then leaned down to lick at the abused nub. Dean shook, and thrust against Sam, using his leg to pull Sam against him harder. Then Sam was sliding away, slithering down Dean’s torso. He planted an open-mouthed kiss on Dean’s sternum, then another just below the first. He licked at the sensitive skin just above Dean’s belly button, then dipped his tongue in. Dean writhed. Sam held Dean’s legs open and still, his hands on the muscles of Dean’s thighs, his thumbs rubbing circles against the skin just under the edge of Dean’s boxers. Sam’s face was a scant inch above Dean’s cock, separated only by thin fabric. He lowered his face until he was breathing hotly over the tented boxers. It shouldn’t have been so hot, not when he wasn’t even touching Dean, but Dean jerked up anyway, seeking Sam’s mouth. Sam held him down easily, hands still planted on Dean’s thighs, and he looked up at Dean wickedly. Dean’s breath stopped. Those eyes gazing up at him from between his legs. Hair messy and loose from where Dean had put his fingers. He jerked again, helplessly, and Sam’s smile widened.

Sam slowly, slowly slid his hands upward, tracing over Dean’s thighs and stopping at his hipbones. He curled his fingers into the elastic of Dean’s boxers and tugged them down slightly, then put his mouth on the seam, too.

_Yes_ , thought Dean, _yes, finally_. But Sam just gripped the fabric in his teeth, and then with his hands and mouth he pulled Dean’s boxers down, letting Dean’s dick spring free. Dean kicked the boxers the rest of the way off and stared up at Sam, who was standing between Dean’s legs with a look on his face like a starving man at a banquet. Hungry. _Powerful_. He was still fully clothed.

Dean sat up, his face level with Sam’s belt buckle, and clawed at Sam’s shirt. “Off,” he commanded, but Sam seemed dazed, his hands coming up to card through Dean’s hair instead of helping. Dean groaned, and pulled at the belt buckle in front of him. He pushed it open and undid Sam’s fly. Without thinking he leaned forward and mouthed at Sam’s dick underneath the fabric of his underwear. With a low moan, Sam fell to his knees, pushing Dean’s legs further apart. Sam licked at Dean’s inner thigh and then bit, soothing over the skin with his tongue when Dean gasped. He did the same to Dean’s other leg, then he rose up slightly, his hands still on Dean’s knees. His mouth was so close to Dean’s cock that Dean could almost feel the vibrations when he talked.

“Dean,” Sam said, his voice hoarse. “Dean, say yes.”

Dean didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded. Sam leaned forward the last centimetre and licked, kitten-like, at the head of Dean’s cock. Then he wrapped his lips around Dean and sucked, his cheeks hollowing. Dean yelped and leaned forward, putting his hands on Sam’s shoulders to brace himself while Sam slid down his cock, slowly, slowly taking more of Dean into the hot wet heat of his mouth. Dean was curled around him, breathing hard, his whole body tense and probably getting in Sam’s way. _Imagine me kneeling in front of you_ , Sam had said. And now he was here. Dean keened when Sam licked at him. Then Sam reached up to put a hand on Dean’s chest, pushing him backward. Dean took the hint and fell back against the mattress, staring at his ceiling blindly while all his senses focused on the feel of _Sam_. His hair tickling Dean’s balls. The hot presence of him between Dean’s thighs.

Sam’s hands slid round to the back of Dean’s knees, pulling him closer to the edge of the bed. Dean slid down the mattress, and got onto his elbows to look down his body at Sam. Sam looked up at him at the same time, his mouth stuffed full of Dean, saliva on his chin and lips.

“S-Sam,” he stuttered, hips twitching. Sam pulled off with a wet pop that had Dean groaning. “Oh, fuck, Sam, you have to stop now or I’m gonna loose it.”

“I like the sound of that,” Sam said wickedly, using just the tip of his tongue to flick against the head of Dean’s cock.

“ _Nngh_ , no, Sam, I -” Dean groaned again when Sam’s fingers found his balls, squeezing lightly. “Sam, Sam, I -oh god- I want you, _fuck_ , want you in me.” Sam squeezed again. “ _Please_ , Sam. I don’t wanna wait. Not for you. Not for this.”

Sam slithered up his body, leaving a trail of kisses across Dean’s chest, until he reached Dean’s mouth. “Are you sure?” he whispered against Dean’s lips. Dean wrapped his legs around Sam, grinding their hips together.

“I’m sure,” he whispered back.

“Do you have -”

“Bedside table.”

Sam pushed himself up, leaving Dean momentarily cold, and went to fetch lube and a condom. He opened the drawer and Dean instantly remembered what else he kept in there. He rolled over, and sure enough Sam had pulled out the small black dildo from its hiding place. Sam chuckled, and Dean blushed.

“That’s, uh, that’s just -” Dean began, not sure how he was going to explain it.

“I know what it _is_ , Dean,” Sam smirked, and looked at the dildo again, as though deciding something. “Next time,” he said at last, before replacing it in the drawer. He came back to the bed. “So uh, have you ever... I mean, do you want to... how much experience do you have here?”

Dean blushed. “Um, you were just holding it.”

Sam gaped. “That little thing? _That’s_ your experience?”

“I mean with girls, yeah, but I’ve never, you know, found someone I wanted to - someone like you.” He winced.

Sam groaned, palming himself through his pants. “You want me to be your first, _god_.” He stared down at Dean. “I’m, uh, a little bigger than your toy, though.”

“I can take it,” Dean said immediately, wriggling his hips against the bed. 

Sam smirked. “I’m sure you can, gorgeous, but you might need more preparation than you’re used to.” Dean blushed and reached for the lube, but Sam snatched it away. “How unchivalrous do you think I am? That’s _my_ job.” He laughed out loud, then his voice went dark. “Get on your hands and knees,” he ordered. 

Dean rolled over immediately. His cock swung beneath him, hard and full. He resisted the urge to stroke himself. Sam groaned behind him, and Dean looked over his shoulder in time to see Sam divesting himself of his shirt. Dean’s mouth went dry just looking at him. All that skin, the hard expanse of muscle. Dean wanted to study the play of candlelight on flesh. The way his chest moved when he breathed. But then Sam had his hands on Dean’s ass, kneading, pulling the two cheeks apart, and Dean lost his train of thought. He shook with anticipation. No one had ever touched him here. Only his own curious fingers and the little black toy he hid in his bedside table.

Sam’s breath was hot against Dean’s ass. Something wet and foreign slid against him, pressing against that hidden place, and Dean bucked against air.

“Y-You licked me!” he stammered in surprise. Sam hummed his affirmation, then did it again, and again. Dean swore, loudly. Tiny little lights exploded against his eyelids, and electric currents shot down his legs. He trembled against Sam’s hands where they held him spread open. Every swipe of Sam’s tongue had his dick jerking in response, until he had to beg Sam to stop.

“Sam, _fuck_ , hurry up, oh my god. _Please_ , Sam.”

Sam seemed to hear the urgency in Dean’s voice and leaned back. Dean could almost feel him smirking. “You liked that, huh?” he asked.

“Just, _shit_ , hurry up, will you?”

“Impatient, aren’t you?” Sam tsked, pretending to be stern. But a sneaky finger wriggled between Dean’s cheeks, pausing at the bundle of nerves that was Dean’s hole. It pressed lightly, and slipped in easily. Dean’s mouth opened on a silent whine, his whole brain focused on the tiny tip of a finger that Sam had inside him. 

“How does it feel?” Sam asked.

“Can hardly f-feel it,” Dean replied, trying (and failing) to put on a tone of disinterest. “You’ll have t-to try h-harder.”

Sam sniggered, and pushed his finger further into Dean. The sensation wasn’t new to Dean, who had tried this on his own before, but it was infinitely better with Sam there, stroking one hand down his back and scratching lightly against his skin.

Sam pushed the single finger in and out for a minute, the room silent but for Dean’s steady chanting “yes, yes, yes, oh my god, Sam, yes.” Sensing, perhaps, that Dean didn’t need any extra stimulation, Sam kept quiet when he added a second finger, pressing against Dean again. Dean felt them push inside him and dropped his head towards his hands, gasping for air. He had never gone further than this with himself, had never needed more than two fingers to open himself up. When he felt a third finger press against him, he tensed up automatically. Sam shushed him gently, stroking Dean’s back with his free hand, and whispered to him.

“Relax, Dean, relax. I’m here. I’ve got you. Shh, yeah, Dean, just like that. Just like that. Relax.” Then he reached around Dean’s hips and gave one soft, long pull along Dean’s erection. Dean immediately felt his body cave in, craving Sam’s touch, and the three fingers slid in unhindered. Sam twisted them around inside Dean, pushing them as far into him as they could go. Dean’s whole body trembled, barely holding itself together.

“Sam,” he said, desperate. “Sam, _now_.”

Sam didn’t even argue, just pulled free of Dean and then pushed against his hip until he rolled onto his back. The movement made Dean feel... weird. Loose. And wet. He shivered at the sensation, and then forgot all about it because Sam was finally in front of him, naked, standing at the foot of the bed and staring at Dean hungrily. Dean’s eyes widened when he saw Sam’s dick. That was... _woah_ , that was definitely bigger than his toy.

Sam saw where Dean was looking. “We don’t have to,” he said.

“I want to,” Dean said, firmly. Then his eyes wandered back down Sam’s body again. He sat up, feeling weird and wet again, reaching for Sam. A bead of precum glistened at the head of Sam’s cock. Dean touched it with the tip of his finger, and watched as Sam twitched, the drop transferring to his finger. Dean brought his hand to his mouth and licked at the single drop. 

Sam moaned. “What does it taste like?”

“Salty,” Dean said truthfully, “but good.” This time, when he reached forward, he wrapped his whole hand around Sam’s erection. Sam moaned, long and low and dirty, and jerked into Dean’s loose fist, once, twice, before pulling free.

“Next time,” Sam panted. “Or have you changed your mind?” Dean shook his head no. “So needy,” Sam chuckled.

“How... how do you want me?” Dean asked, his voice hoarse.

“Every way,” was Sam’s immediate response, but then he grinned. “On your back, if you can take it. I want to see your face. How flexible are you?” Dean shrugged, unsure. “Lie down and relax,” Sam told him. “Tell me if it hurts, I’ll stop.”

Dean fell back against the mattress, and Sam loomed over him. The sound of ripping plastic reminded Dean of the condoms, and sure enough Sam had slipped one onto himself, coating the plastic with more lube. Then he was slinking his arms beneath Dean’s knees and pulling his legs up. Cold air blew against the wetness between his cheeks and he quivered. Sam slung Dean’s legs over his shoulders, and Dean found he was more comfortable than he thought he would be when practically folded in half. Sam stared down at him, and Dean felt something nudge against his hole. He gasped up at Sam.

“Are you sure, Dean? Are you sure?”

Dean nodded frantically, completely lost for words, gaping up at Sam. _It was happening_ , he said to himself. _He was having sex with Sam_.

Then Sam was pushing, and Dean had to remind himself to relax, relax, relax. He weakly pushed back against Sam and something gave, and all of a sudden Sam was inside him. Dean’s eyes crossed. Every inch of his skin was on fire. Just the tip of Sam’s cock inside him felt like a line of heat. He’d come close to real flames before, but there was nothing, _nothing_ , hotter than this. Nothing could compare to the sudden _fullness_ , the _rightness_ , like he had been empty his whole life until now. Then Sam pushed again and Dean forgot his name.

“Saaaaam!” he keened, his whole body going tense. Sam growled above him, apparently past words, and kept pushing. Dean thought he was going to choke on Sam, that he was going to push up into his throat, but then Sam’s balls were touching Dean’s ass, and he rested fully inside him. They both lay still for a moment, catching their breath. 

“Holy. Shit,” Dean whispered. Sam just groaned in response. Then Dean squeezed the muscles around Sam’s dick, and the groan turned into a yelp.

Sam pulled out, a half inch, and then slid back in, coming to rest fully sheathed inside Dean again. He repeated the move, only sliding out a tiny fraction before coming back, as though Dean were a homing beacon he couldn’t help but respond to. Dean liked the thought of Sam staying inside him, forever, but he also wanted to get off some time this century. 

He squeezed his muscles again, and Sam’s rhythm stuttered. “Go,” he urged, “make me come.”

Sam paused for a single heartbeat, then slid all the way out. He looked at Dean for a long second, and then with a powerful thrust he fucked straight into Dean’s body. He didn’t stop this time, but began a steady rhythm, pistoning his hips again and again. Dean’s body sang in response, and when Sam shifted his position slightly something inside of Dean lit up, sending fireworks through his limbs.

Dean had never found his prostate before, had never reached far enough, or pressed hard enough, but Sam had. Sam and his dexterous fingers and his sneaky tongue and his smirk. Dean thought he might literally explode from pleasure, as Sam rocked against that spot inside him and stuttered his name like it was a prayer.

“Dean,” he said on a gasp, “Dean, I’m close, I’m - _shit_ \- so close. Come with me, Dean, god, _yes_.”

Dean’s whole body tensed, and he fought to keep his eyes open. “Sam, Sam, Sam,” he chanted, and then Sam hit that lightning-spot inside him again, and with a shuddering cry Dean came, semen shooting up his stomach and splattering against his chest. He kept his eyes open, watched Sam’s face morph as Dean’s orgasm squeezed around his dick, and then Sam locked eyes with him and came, too, jerking into Dean and moaning.

Sam collapsed against him, and they both struggled to regain their breathing.

“That was -” Dean started, and then stopped, unable to think of a suitable adjective. Sam hummed in agreement, and mouthed at Dean’s collarbone, biting gently. Dean’s dick twitched feebly at the feel of Sam’s teeth, but Dean was too warm and content to get himself worked up. He reached for the tissues by the bed, and cleaned himself up, working around Sam’s body where it pressed against him. Sam kissed along his neck and jaw as Dean pulled the condom off him, tying it off and throwing it across the room into the bin. His body felt loose, and his lower half was aching with pleasure. He had just orgasmed harder than he could ever remember. Harder than he ever had using that little black dildo. He grinned to himself, then slunk out from under Sam, who belatedly tried to grab at him.

“Where you going?” Sam slurred, already half asleep.

Dean reached into his bedside table drawer and retrieved the little dildo, then opened his window and flung the toy out into the night air.

“I am never, _ever_ using a toy again,” he promised.

Sam stared at him. “Am I replacing your dildo?” he asked sleepily, confused

Dean laughed out loud, and he was still laughing when he crawled back into bed beside Sam, spooning up against his warmth. He kissed a trail across Sam’s shoulder, and then wrapped himself more firmly around Sam’s body. Sam hummed happilly, turning to drag Dean closer, so they could lie face to face. Dean’s head rested beneath Sam’s chin.

“S’ok,” Sam told the top of Dean’s head, “I’ll be your new dildo, Dean.”

They fell asleep laughing, wrapped around each other until morning, when Sam would prove his statement again.

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Fireman!Dean au in which Sam accidentally sets his house on fire and Dean’s the one that saves him.
> 
> Feedback is highly appreciated!
> 
> I also accept requests ;)


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